


Taking a Sick Day

by PhantasmaDormi



Series: Botany [2]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Mianite Awakening, Mianite Awakening (Mianite Fan Series), Mianite(Youtube Series), Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Characters are not mine, Fluff, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rare Pair, They are Maiatan_Fallen's, Unrevised Older Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmaDormi/pseuds/PhantasmaDormi
Summary: Botan was not sick. Sick of failure? Definitely. Sick in the way his own Biology failed him? No. He wasn’t sick and he wasn’t about to stay home thinking about how he was sick. And if that meant avoiding Death the best he could, he knew he could make it up to his lover.





	Taking a Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maiatan_Fallan (Aeregele)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeregele/gifts).



> From the past week

It was early in the morning when Botan first noticed something was off. For a start, he was awake far too early. Death was still curled up beside him, snuggled contently into the pillows lining the top of their bed. To add to this, he was super hot, a cold sweat lining his skin, despite the shivering trying to take over his body. But he was fine. It would pass with some medicine. 

Gently moving the blankets, careful not to disturb Death in his peaceful slumber, he threw his legs over the edge. Suppressing a shudder as the cool air caressed his skin, he pushed himself onto shaking legs. For a moment, his vision swam, a flurry of dark dots racing across his eyes. Pressing them shut with a choked groan, he tried to keep steady. With a sigh, he stumbled towards the bathroom. 

Normally, he could navigate the house with ease, the dark proving to be no obstacle. But with his head spinning, he was forced to resort to a hand brushing along the wall, leading his movements. Once he found the bathroom door, careful to open it slowly, wary of it's typical creak, he fumbled for the light switch. Closing the door behind him, he ease the switch up, grimacing as the light stabbed at his eyes. 

Eyeing himself in the mirror, he dutifully ignored the wretched look he was wearing, and fiddled with the cabinets. Fumbling with the bottles inside, wincing as they clinked together, he retrieved the ibuprofen, reading and re-reading the dosage suggestion and doubling it. He had to, as he had built up an immunity to most drugs. Reaching for the cup left at the edge of the sink, he eased the faucet on, keeping the stream of water quiet.

Watching the cup fill up, he struggled to keep his mind centered. Once he deemed it to be enough, he popped the four little pills in his mouth, took a swig of water, and gulped down the medicine. Finishing off the water with a few more drinks, he gently placed it on the counter. While he knew, through common sense and scientific fact, that he should eat something to ease the pills, he wasn't going to. It would mean venturing farther into house. And knowing his luck, he'd cross the threshold of the kitchen to see Death expectantly looking at him for an explanation to his wandering.

So instead he found himself halfway crawling back to bed, determined to sleep off the rest of his ailments. As long as they dimmed down, he’d be fine. Of course, that was under the impression Death didn't sniff out his deceit.

Settling back beneath the comforter, trying to quell the shivers attacking his body, he snuggled close to his lover. Death gave a small grumble as he shifted an arm across him, shoving his nose deeper into his pillow. Yeah, Botan would be just fine.

~

Botan was not just fine. Not long after he had crawled back into bed, he had fallen into a fitful doze. Caught between the longing for rest and the irritation of a growing headache, sleep did not come easy. For fits and bursts, he caught some shut eye, but almost two hours later, he gave up. 

Disentangling himself from Death once more, he lurched to his feet. Shaking his head, regretting the action at the wave of vertigo hitting him, he did his best to assemble a change of clothes. With the garments he came upon, not quite matching but suitable nonetheless, he determinedly found his way back the the bathroom, closing the door and starting the shower. Eyeing the bottle that had been carelessly left on the counter, he scolded himself. If Death saw that, he would know. Returning it to it's proper place, he vaguely cleaned the bathroom before stepping into the shower. Turning the water on hot, he wasted little time.

In the hopefully short period, he made sure he was properly groomed and clean, pretending the heat helped, and finished up. Towelling himself dry, he spared a glance in the mirror. He certainly didn’t look as on point as normal, but he did look better. 

Leaving the bathroom, he peeked in the bedroom, making sure Death was still asleep, before wandering to the kitchen to pick up some form of breakfast (he wasn’t really allowed to make anything at the moment due to… accidents) and leave a note. ‘Love, went to work early. I had sudden inspiration. Yes, I took something to eat.’ Having done that, he waltzed out, begrudgingly grabbing a set of car keys. Driving a car in the ungodly hours of the morning was bad enough. Driving with a splitting headache? This would be interesting.

~

On one hand, he arrived rather alive. On the other, he was pondering the potential for a passerby to have called him in for a DUI. Though he had managed to mostly remain on the road, driving in a straight line was not exactly the easiest thing. But he wasn’t pulled over, and he managed to avoid any reasons to call the insurance agency. 

After messing with the lock, the key rebelliously refusing to go in, he found himself walking into the building. Fighting with the door to his office, this time irritatedly trying to find the right key, he sighed. Forgoing the overhead lights, he made his way over to his desk, struggling to get the lamp to turn on. Falling into his chair, revelling in the plush seat, he let out a groan. His head pulsed in time with his heat, in a traitorous attempt of convincing him of illness. 

Resoloutly getting his journal set, he reviewed his notes. Or rather tried. Though he was well versed in the language and handwriting contained by the book, it wasn’t meshing well at the moment. Where some areas came out clear as day, others were determined to remain elusive. From the gist of what he gathered from his previous writings, and that of which he recalled in his haze, he set upon adding to his notes. 

While continued observation would be of the most benefit to his research, he was loathe to get back up. At least for now. He would, of course, need to. For now, he worked with the observations he had previously made, expanding on the topics he could make out and making sure he had fully expanded upon certain topics. 

The going was slow. Between the struggle to decipher his work and the difficulty remembering his previous examinations, he wasn’t getting far. It was frustrating, how much time was being wasted on such trifles as his body acting against him. The faster it came to terms with not being sick, the faster he could resume more productive activities. 

A thought came to him in the midst of his exasperation. Perhaps, for just a few minutes, he could rest his eyes. With a disgruntled noise, he conceded to the potential benefits of such an action. However, he refused to leave this chair. Pillowing his head in his arms, he let his eyelids slide shut. Just a few minutes.

~

He awoke to the light shaking of his shoulder, and he knew his body had betrayed him. Groggily opening his eyes, he turned his head to be met with the knowing look of Death. 

“Oh dear, it seems you’re a bit under the weather. Perhaps you are, I don’t know sick? And should be at home? Laying in bed? With your loving and dutiful partner making the best soup you’ll ever have for your sorry ass?” The dark being tisked. “You should know better than this.”

With a groan Botan buried his head back into his elbow. “‘M not sick.”

The scientist could feel the disbelieving look his bland response received. A drawn out sigh was heard from behind him, before his chair was gently dragged backwards. Picking his head up before it was left to the will of gravity, he grimaced at the welcoming sensation of pain. Not only had the headache decide to grace him with more time together, but his throat jumped on the bandwagon and devolved to a dry, irritated texture. 

A hand settled on his check, and Death let out an aggravated sigh. “You are such- are you really this determined to deny illness?” 

He wasn’t given the chance to reply Death carefully pulled him up. Balancing his weight between the two of them, Death slowly lead the unwilling Botan out of his office. As they passed the threshold, he gave in. Leaning further into his lover, he gave a low grumble as the office door was locked behind him. 

“What abou-” He was cut off by the darker man.

“Already fed your subjects. They’ll live,” Death lightly rolled his eyes.

With definitely not a pout, he tried his best to glower at him, to no avail. The two made their way back to the front of the building, Death pausing to open, close, and lock the door. Picking his keys out his pocket, Death sighed as he eyed the vehicle he had taken here. It was for his stupid love. Carefully settling Botan in the passenger seat, he chuckled at the pouting expression stuck on his face. With a quick peck to his forehead, he shut the passenger door and made his way to the driver’s side. Getting set, he spared a glance at his lover, who would staring out the window, eyelids drooping. Turning the car on and shifting gears, he took them away from the building.

~

Botan was awoke the second time that day by his sweet lover. This time, he was roused by the shifting of his body and Death tried his best to pick him up. Arms curled beneath his knees and upper back, he kicked the door closed, making his way to the door. After an awkward second of fumbling with the keys, as Botan squirmed a little in his grasp, he finally convinced it to open. 

The journey through the house was lost to the sudden dizziness scrambling his thoughts. He was only vaguely aware of being brought through the hallway and into their bedroom. Death gently deposited him in their bed, wrapping the covers neatly over his shoulders. As he was left in peace, he found himself dozing back off. 

In what seemed like seconds later, he came back to the sharp click the a glass being set on the nightstand. Blearily looking to the side, he was met with both the sight of his lover shaking meds from a container, and the soothing smell of soup. From what he could tell, it was cold typical chicken noodle, a soup he only truly like when made by his lover.

Death turned to him when he noticed the attention on him, giving him a soft smile. Helping him sit up, he coerced him to take the medicine, the cold tablets that left a wretched after taste in his mouth. Bringing the glass to his lips, filled with cool water, Death made sure he drank slow, until the he had finished it off. After that, he settled beside him, bringing the tray carrying the soup onto both their laps. 

With a cheeky grin, he scooped up a spoonful, bringing it up to Botan’s mouth. Though he glared heavily at the man, he begrudgingly took the food, savoring the taste. Of course, this didn’t stop Death’s running commentary.

“Aw, my poor baby. I’ll make you feel all better,” He teased the sick man. “Now here comes the airplane!” He struggled not to burst into giggles as he was given a nasty look, though Botan still opened his mouth.

Shaking his head, Death continued, “You know, it's not the end of the world to be sick. You’ll just waste more time trying to figure out your work sick, then just taking the time to recover. Then you can go back up and ready to go tackle it.” 

Though he received no response, Death knew Botan was reluctantly agreeing with him. Despite the sick man being a germaphobe, he couldn’t avoid sickness forever. And with the consistency of which he worked late and fell asleep on a frigid desk, it was only a matter of time. Still, as the man let himself ease back further into the pillows, he couldn’t stop the fondness he felt for him. He wouldn’t be Botan if he didn’t want to work so much. 

Besides, these were the best times to coddle and pamper him.

**Author's Note:**

> (Feel better fic)


End file.
